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IN THE KITCHENthe sun burst through the windows, bathing my mother, who slept slumped at the table, her head resting in the nest of her red, swollen arms. She'd probably been scratching all night, maybe trying to scratch the guilt away. I wanted to wake her and tell her that it wasn't her fault, but I didn't. Instead, with the pistol heavy on my back, I stepped lightly over the creaky parts of the floor, trying not to wake her and lie about where I was going. And break her heart even more.
THE YELLOW LIGHTthat lined the hallway buzzed like the lighting bugs me and Shawn used to catch when we were kids. We scooped them into washed-out mayo jars four or five at a time. Shawn would twist the lid tight, nd the two of us would sit on a bench and watch them fly around, bumping into each other, trapped, until one by one their lights went out.
AT THE ELEVATOR Back already sore. Uncomfortable. Gun strapped like a brick rubbing my skin raw with each step. Seemed like time stood still as I reached out and pushed the button. White light surrounded the black arrow. DOWNDOWNDOWN DOWN DOWNDOWN DOWNDOWN

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